2View — 400 Lonely Things :: Creature Comforts / Why I Went To The Woods (Cold Spring)

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Across Creature Comforts and Why I Went To The Woods, 400 Lonely Things turns grief, memory, and quiet hope into two deeply human soundworlds that linger long after the final note fades.

After I heard the latest pair of 400 Lonely Things albums in full, I sat back, took a few deep breaths, and felt the same euphoric rush you get after tasting exceptional barbecue for the first time—the first bite that makes your eyes widen, floods your senses, and lingers in memory.

With Creature Comforts and Why I Went To The Woods, you get two different stories from the same artist. Let’s start with Creature Comforts. A series of “lullabies for the end of the world” showcases Craig Varian’s enormous empathy. I feel the hurt and loss that few truly understand, only to realize it’s also where hope quietly germinates—perfectly and without bias.

From the first washes of “When I Fall,” an unexpected smear of melancholy rolls forward, but before it can overwhelm, it’s reined in by a reassuring voice that hints at what may happen, yet gives no real answer. It feels like living life in a loop. “Some Sad Ocean” gushes and swirls quietly at first. I fell victim to its hypnotic warmth, and then it begins to tear itself apart—a sonic facesplit with immense force. It’s a master class in experimental composition.

The artwork on Creature Comforts comes from the perfectly eclectic Canadian artist David Irvine. The covers and booklet, depicting a series of mutant beings navigating whimsical yet dark moments, resonate deeply with me. Art inspired by music, this release basks in the warm light of truth—a frightening dance made beautiful in the end, reminding us never to judge a book (or album) by its cover.

Creature Comforts is a remarkable collaboration between two artists with great depth. It’s emotionally bent, twisted in both beauty and brilliance. I can’t stop listening to it.

This album feels like an escape from the sorrowful reality our nation is facing—the bleakness, the rumors, the shots fired. And when will it end? We don’t know, but I truly understand why he went into the woods.

“Witches Of Hazel Moor” drew me into an unsettling yet strangely beautiful layer of frost slipping into the thick drama beneath. Every sound sparkles in and out of this hypnotic, waterlogged treasure, reassuring me that there is a better way to feel, even as we sink into murky depths. “Monarch” holds a special place for me, like a treasure found in a grandparent’s attic. Exploring the sounds that punctuate a long-forgotten time, captured on an old reel-to-reel, allows us to bask in imperfections that reveal themselves. Nostalgia meets a broken, beautiful heart.

As a collection, this album tells a story exceptionally well—a closer look into the heart and soul of Craig Varían. I know why he went to the woods: to become the brightest Monarch butterfly and show us a life often forgotten in these times. I am grateful to have experienced it. Maybe now, I can grow too.

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